


Rock 'N' Rollin' Bitch For You

by grocketinmypocket



Series: Press Your Space Face Close To Mine, Love [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Biting, Dirty Talk, Face Slapping, First Time, If You Don't Think Peter Quill Is Pansexual We Can't Be Friends, Light BDSM, M/M, Prison Sex, Public Claiming, Rocket Is A Freak Between The Sheets, This One Here Is Our Booty, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grocketinmypocket/pseuds/grocketinmypocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter gaped up at Rocket, mentally connecting the dots. "You wanna fuck me so no else tries to?"</p>
<p>"Ya think you'd be better off with some of these assholes in here? At least me and Groot will do it without hurtin' ya -- some of these freaks in here would rather slit yer throat and fuck yer --"</p>
<p>"Okay, wow, if this is your idea of seduction then I don't know what to tell you, man."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Payment Due

Something smelled weird. That, in and of itself, was not unusual -- sleeping in the middle of an untidy heap of prisoners of mixed species and hygiene standards was bound to smell strange, at best. Peter had been thinking, as he uneasily dozed off to sleep, about what he was going to do with the (hopefully) obscenely large amount of money he could get for the orb, provided that he could follow Rocket right out of prison when Rocket made his escape, and then in turn escape from Rocket. The little guy was kind of weird, and abrasive, and the first time Peter had laid eyes on him, taking Gamora down in a flying tackle, he'd thought for a crazy moment that the green chick was being attacked by an animatronic Disney raccoon. The fact that he sounded like a wise guy from a mob movie was kind of cool, honestly, and Peter would probably have liked him immediately, if Rocket wasn't planning to hand him in for the bounty Yondu had placed on his head. That had put a damper on any friendly feelings, pretty much.

Thoughts of the money and of escaping Rocket's custody had turned, as Peter dozed off, into a dream of sleeping in the guest room at his grandpa's house. His grandpa's big fat Persian cat was lying heavily on his chest, whiskers tickling his nose. The cat smelled kind of weird, Peter thought sleepily. Like it rolled in mulch. The smell wasn't completely unpleasant; there was no sharp reek like sweat or urine, more like...forest, wet wood. Moss. And fur, too. The scent of a warm body, but not a human one. Some kind of sweetish, slightly acrid scent underneath, touched with the clearer sweetness of flowers and pollen. Not bad smells, necessarily...just strong ones, too many at once, and too close to his face.

Wrinkling his nose, Peter tried to turn over, away from the scents, muttering, "Get offa me, kitty," as he raised a hand to push the cat off of his chest. He realized that he couldn't move -- it was not a cat pinning him in place and tickling him with its fur, but a heavy, solid weight like a cinderblock wrapped in a thick bathrobe planted squarely in the center of his chest, and there was a cold, rough hand over his mouth. He squawked and tried to fight his way free, realizing that his brand new friend and self-appointed keeper, Rocket, was straddling him while Groot muzzled him with one large, branchy hand. Slender, pliant vines coiled themselves around his flailing arms before he could buck Rocket off his chest and make it to his feet, holding him still, but gently, gently. "I am Groot," rumbled into his ear, and Rocket grinned from his perch atop Peter, the light gleaming off his tiny, sharp teeth in a way that disturbingly reminded Peter of a small, yappy, prone-to-bite lap dog.

"Nah, we ain't gonna hurt him, are we, Groot? We just gotta make a few things clear."

"What things?" Peter demanded, and got a mouthful of sharp-tasting sap while sounding like a man speaking urgently from behind a closed wooden door.

"That you belong to us. Remember? We coulda let Big Blue back there have his fun, but we saved your ass. We claimed ya, ya see? Now we gotta make sure everyone sees us makin' good on that claim. Otherwise some of these guys might get the idea that we're soft, and that your ass is up for grabs. You don't want that, do ya?"

Peter gaped up at Rocket, mentally connecting the dots. He opened his mouth, got another mouthful of sap, and huffed with irritation. Groot obligingly lifted his hand away to let Peter speak. "You wanna fuck me so no else tries to?" 

"Ya think you'd be better off with some of these assholes in here? At least me and Groot will do it without hurtin' you -- some of these freaks in here would rather slit your throat and fuck your --"

"Okay, wow, if this is your idea of seduction then I don't know what to tell you, man."

"Look, it's either us, or them. You're worth forty large to us as a bounty, and I ain't lettin' go of all that cash just 'cause you got all kinds of shocked virgin problems with taking it up the ass. If we don't claim ya, someone else is goin' to. Ain't nobody in here gonna pass up a pretty face like him, right, Groot?"

"I am Groot," Groot answered, and Rocket snickered.

"Yeah, don't worry, Groot, we're gonna make him real happy," Rocket said with a leer.

"This is not happening to me," Peter muttered, and then yelped when Rocket fastened clawed little fingers around his left nipple and gave it a twist. "Ow! That's really rude. The prison-rape propositioning is one thing but pinching is just low."

"Come on, Quill. Are you in or out?"

Peter opened his mouth, almost automatically, to make the joke that was begging to be made, lying there whorishly spread out for the taking -- but the glint in Rocket's eyes spoke of limited patience and a willingness to continue twisting Peter's nipple clean off, so he held it back. "Why bother asking me, then? You'll do it whether I want you to or not."

"Did I fuckin' say that?" Rocket snarled, looking offended. "What I said was, me n' Groot won't hurt ya. You'd have a good time with us, Quill. A hell of a lot better than lettin' these freakos tear you apart." The pinching claws on Peter's nipple released and were replaced by a softly stroking fingertip. "If ya say yes, we'll take ya to the laundry room, and we gotta make a good show out of it, too, so everybody at least wakes up and sees us taking ya there. When we get you in the laundry room, you gotta play along. Make it a good show, like I said. Be real vocal and shit, so they know we're really usin' ya good." Rocket continued to stroke Peter's nipple, wracking a shiver down his spine that Rocket took note of, and grinned in reply to.

"I am Groot," Groot said, and new vines slithered around Peter, underneath the thin cotton of his prison scrubs. Rocket took pity and translated when Peter glanced up at him questioningly. 

"He says it looks like you're starting to get into it. Are ya, Quill?" Rocket leaned backward on Peter's chest and rubbed his free hand over the bulge of Peter's cock, startling a groan out of him and making him buck hard enough to almost unseat Rocket, despite Groot's vines holding him in place.

Sure enough, Peter actually was starting to get into it. To a frankly disturbing level. He reasoned with himself that he'd had sex with stranger beings -- hell, with stranger _combinations_ of beings -- before. How bad could this be? Rocket was pretty much giving him an absolutely _filthy_ handjob right through his pants now, and Groot was busily growing vines seemingly everywhere, tickling along Peter's skin under his clothes and seeking out the most sensitive spots, the ones that made him twist and whine and push up into Rocket's hand.

Given that Rocket was apparently as much a genius at giving handies as he claimed to be at escaping high-security lock-ups, this would obviously be preferable to leaving himself to the tender mercies of gen. pop. Whatever Groot was doing with those vines of his was good enough to make Peter reconsider his long-standing "no tentacles" rule, as well. If his eyes hadn't been all but rolling back in his head, Peter would have been appalled at himself: the infamous outlaw Starlord, wiggling and panting like an over-eager teenager while being molested by a Disney cartoon escapee and a tree-dude. Raccoon, talking tree, whatever -- this felt _fantastic_.

Rocket laughed and pulled his hand away, turning to Groot when Peter's hips rose to follow and Peter whined under his breath at the loss of contact. "I think he's ready, Groot. Let's go."

"I am Groot," Groot agreed, and the vines wound around Peter's arms and torso withdrew. Rocket hopped down off his chest and stepped back while Groot hauled Peter to his feet, then scrambled up Groot's side to stand on his shoulder. He reached down and grabbed Peter by the hair, pulling his head back so that Peter had to look up at him.

"Ready to pay us what you owe us, Quill?" Rocket asked, in a clear, hard voice that carried perfectly in the dark. A soft rustling noise arose -- prisoners stirring in their sleep, turning muzzily toward Rocket's raised voice.

Peter looked up at him, realizing this was what Rocket meant about making sure everyone saw them making their claim. "Yeah," he muttered, suddenly aware of his hard-on tenting out the front of his pants, and of the eyes on him from all over the room, of the complete and utter ridiculousness of this situation. Rocket's hand tightened in his hair and pulled, and Peter heard the grinding whine of servos in Rocket's shoulder as he was lifted up onto his toes. Rocket actually shook him then, like a naughty pet, and glared at him. The strength it must take to hold him up like this was startling, given Rocket's size, and despite the pain of being yanked up by the scalp, Peter suddenly pictured himself being held by the scruff of his neck, face being forced onto Rocket's cock, with that same astonishing strength.

_Well, shit,_ Peter thought. _There goes the idea that I was ever_ not _a freak for rough trade._ Although he half wanted to provoke Rocket a little more, just to see what he would do -- and was not above storing that idea away for later -- he realized what was expected of him now, and swallowed hard before answering. "Yes, sir," he said.


	2. Playing to the Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They're gonna be watchin', so you gotta make it look like we're roughin' ya up a little, ok? Make it look like it hurts." Rocket pulled his hair again, and Peter hissed in breath, cock throbbing almost painfully under Groot's twisting, stroking vine.

"Better," Rocket said, and dropped him. Peter swayed and would have fallen if Groot hadn't braceleted one long-fingered hand around his upper arm and nudged him upright. Rocket waved Groot on toward the laundry room from his perch on the tree's shoulder, and Peter found himself being hustled along, a few scattered laughs and crude comments following them out of the room. Peter barely heard them. Despite all sense and reason, Peter was finding that he was actually, really, bizarrely enjoying this. There had always been a stubbornly contrary, willful, self-destructive streak in him, a need to be bossed around by someone he could smart off to, and possibly earn a little beating from now and then. He had come to the conclusion long ago that, okay, yes, sometimes he liked to sleep with people who could, and did, occasionally beat the crap out of him. And that was just going to have to be okay, because that's how he was wired.

Rocket looking like a Terran raccon was not much of an issue for Peter, either. He considered himself, if he bothered to think about it at all, as "flexible." He had been young enough, when he left Earth, that he hadn't had much more than a child's nebulous ideas of gay and straight, absorbed from movies and television shows. And simple binary categories of sexuality were fairly useless out here. What did "gay" or "straight" matter when none of your partners were even the same species as you? There was very little that Peter would consider a dealbreaker, when it came to choosing his lovers; he only really required sentience, maturity, and consent. Only tentacles were, until about five minutes ago, an automatic no. Everything else could be worked around, size differences and incompatible genitalia included, if you had enthusiam and resourcefulness. Peter prided himself on his resourcefulness. 

Peter's internal monologue trailed off when he felt Groot steering him into the door at the end of the dingy, creepy corridor they had come down. Once inside, Groot extended long, thick, heavy vines from his shoulders and criss-crossed them inside the door frame, bracing the laundry room door shut from the inside but leaving the slit of window exposed. Rocket scrambled down Groot's side to the floor and ran to the door at the opposite end of the long, narrow space. He grabbed a stool and shoved it over to the securipanel beside the door and jumped up onto it. Rocket began picking at the hem of his shirt, using his nimble claws to coax out a few long, thin pieces of something that shimmered with fractals of color like anodized aluminum.

"What's that?" Peter asked. 

"Oyouu spine. Hard as metal but completely biological. Passes through most scanners. Groot keeps a bunch of 'em under his bark plates." Rocket dug a pair of the spines into the casing of the securipanel and pried it off, digging out a thick skein of wiring. His hands moved quickly in short, graceful gestures, neatly slicing through and stripping wires with his nails and re-splicing them as he hummed under his breath, the spines clenched between his teeth. The dim lights above them flickered, and the doors at both ends of the room thudded heavily deep inside, their status lights flipping to red. Groot withdrew the vines blocking the door they had come in by, but remained where he was with Peter held lightly in his grasp. Rocket threaded the spines back into his shirt, dusted off his hands, and jumped down to the floor again. "Locked up the door circuits with garbage input. Can't be opened from the outside 'til the processor cools down. So we got maybe an hour to have our fun."

"And our fun requires a locked door?" Peter said skeptically. "I thought you said the guards don't care what we do to each other."

"Ain't the guards I'm lockin' out, it's all those other bastards. I'm leavin' the cameras on so the guards can see what we're up to in here -- if they see we just came in here ta fuck you, and not tryin' to escape or nothin', they won't bother bustin' down the door. The other inmates'll be able to see through those windows in the doors there, and they'll be able to hear you, but they won't be able to get in 'til we're done. By then, between the guards tellin' tales and the inmates doin' the same, the word'll have spread that you're our piece a' ass, and maybe, just maybe, we can keep your squishy humie body in one piece long enough to get outta here and collect our bounty."

"The romance just bleeds out of the whole thing when you keep reminding me you plan to send me to a painful death, you know."

"Have you ever been in prison before?" Rocket asked.

"Yeah, I've been in jail like, nine times," Peter replied, obscurely offended. 

"You've been in _jail_. A nice safe little Nova Corps holding cell where they let you out after you post bail, right?"

"So?"

"So, this is _prison_. Ain't no friendly Nova officers here gonna break up fights or bring ya fuckin' milk n' cookies. We're doing you a favor. Show one tiny 'lil bit of weakness in here, and you're meat for somebody bigger n' meaner. And if we don't prove to everybody else that me and Groot are big and mean enough to scare off all comers, you're gonna end up in a room like this with someone ain't got your better interests in mind. Trust me, I been in that situation. It ain't pretty."

Peter didn't ask, even though he wanted to, and Rocket just sniffed dismissively at his look of stifled curiosity. "Groot ain't always been with me when I was on the inside. People see me, they see somethin' little and weak. It's easier to fight 'em off when ya got muscle on yer side, and Groot's my muscle. I ain't helpless, though, get rid 'a that notion right now -- there's at least three guys runnin' around now who gotta piss sittin' down." Rocket's upper lip curled up in a snarl, revealing a row of sharp incisors and canines.

While Peter was adjusting to a world where the being he was about to have sex with had apparently _chewed off_ the genitals of his rapists-to-be, _more than once_ , Rocket moved past him to scale Groot's side and perch on his shoulder.

"I am Groot," Groot said, and even though he was looking at Peter, Peter got the impression he was speaking to Rocket, who was leaning against the side of Groot's head and looking Peter up and down, sizing him up.

"That's a good idea, Groot," Rocket said, and then, to Peter: "Strip."

"That's kind of sudden. Did I mention romance, and your lack of it? You want me to just get naked?"

"Yeah, like now. We only got an hour, and Groot wants to spend as much 'a that time making ya happy as we can."

" _'Making me happy,'_ " Peter said dubiously as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Do I wanna know what he means by that or should I just let it all be a grand surprise?"

"Groot's people don't exactly have sex with squishy bits interactin' like humies, they, whatchamacallit, _pollinate_ or some shit. Groot ain't exactly a 'he', neither, 'cause his people are all one kind. He ain't got no junk, either way. He just answers to 'he' 'cause it's easier. I dunno if he even understands that humies come in more than one flavor, ta be honest." Rocket was watching Peter stripping with interest, and Groot seemed to be, as well -- his depthless black eyes were following Peter's every move.

"So if his people don't have sex, and he doesn't have, like, sex organs or whatever, what's he gonna get out of this? I mean, he understands enough to, you know, consent, right?" Peter dropped the last of his clothing onto the floor and stood naked, looking back at the pair looking at him.

"He may not know genders, but Groot knows exactly what he's doin', Quill. He likes pheromones."

"Pheromones," Peter repeated, the dubious tone back.

"Ya know, the scents us fleshbodies give off, like scents for sex or fear or whatever, right? His people talk with smells, I think. S'why all he can say is 'I am Groot' -- his throat ain't made for talkin' with words. Anyhow, Groot likes the way it smells when somebody he likes is happy. The happier ya are, the better it smells to 'im. The thing that smells best is when he can be there while somebody's gettin' off. Or help 'em get off, if they'll let 'im. His own people thought he was kind of a prevert, gettin' involved in fleshbody matin' an' stuff. Yer a sicko, ain't that right, Groot?"

"I am Groot." Groot grinned happily and unfurled another of those slender vines from his chest, twining through the air toward Peter and curling shyly around his side before trailing down his belly to caress his now-flaccid cock. As Peter's length blushed with the blood filling it, thickening and rising, Groot's smile widened even more, eyes slipping closed as he leaned into Peter's space, inhaling deeply. "I am Groot," he sighed in a voice like quietly rolling boulders.

"He likes ya, Quill. He says you smell really fuckin' good," Rocket offered, quick little dark eyes darting from Peter's face to his hardening cock and back again. He looked back over his shoulder at Groot. "Think we can make him smell even better, Groot?"

"I am Groot," Groot agreed, and extended an arm for Rocket to climb down so that he could stand balanced on Groot's wide, woody palm. Groot lowered his hand to the right height to place Rocket at Peter's eye level, and Rocket reached out and grabbed a big handful of Peter's hair, pulling their faces close together.

"Now listen -- we got an audience, just like I expected, so ya gotta make it look like we're hurtin' ya a little bit." 

Peter craned his head as far as Rocket's grip on his hair would allow, and could just make out faces pressed to the narrow strip of window in the door at the end of the room behind Rocket and Groot. Without looking, he was pretty sure there would be more faces pressed to the window in the other door. _It's not like I've never fucked in front of an audience before,_ Peter thought.

Tight quarters on board Ravager ships had never allowed for the pretense of modesty if one wanted to get their dick wet, and Peter sometimes had weird, Freudian nightmares about the time he'd brought a smoking hot Kree chick back to the ship as a teen and discovered when he woke up the next morning that not only had Yondu and most of the crew -- the crew that had basically raised him from childhood, no less -- been watching Peter fuck her on the table in the mess hall, but they had posted numeric scores and disturbingly detailed critiques on the front of the cold storage unit. Compared to that, having a few strangers watch him fuck a raccoon and a tree wasn't really that much worse, honestly. Besides, Groot was doing some fucking _amazing_ things with that vine, and Peter was too busy repenting his lifelong "no tentacles" policy to worry about being eyed up by a bunch of inmates.

Rocket pulled his attention back by giving Peter's hair a healthy yank and grabbing his jaw to force his face back around. "They're gonna be watchin', so you gotta make it look like we're roughin' ya up a little, ok? Make it look like it hurts." Rocket pulled his hair again, and Peter hissed in breath, cock throbbing almost painfully under Groot's twisting, stroking vine. Rocket's grin was feral. "I don't think ya mind it too much, though, do ya? I think ya like it when it hurts." Rocket leaned in and ran his teeth over the pulse-point in Peter's throat, then clamped down hard, making Peter buck his hips and yelp. "That's gonna leave a mark," Rocket whispered in his ear. "Gonna mark ya up all over, so when ya shower everybody'll see who ya belong to. Gonna make sure nobody else touches what's mine. Gonna make sure you remember it every time you move."

In all of his years of traveling the starways, Peter had never found a partner who liked to talk in bed as much as he did; he sometimes wondered if dirty talk was something only Terrans were into. In his fantasies, his lovers always kept up a steady stream of filthy, explicit commentary. Now here was Rocket, already profane in everyday conversation -- just listening to him talk about what he intended to do to Peter had him harder than he had ever been in his life. His _entire_ life. If the universe loved him even just a little bit, Peter thought, Rocket would never, ever stop talking. Peter decided that his plan was not:

1) Stick with Rocket until they escaped the Kyln;  
2) Ditch Rocket so that he didn't get handed over to Yondu;  
3) Continue being awesome. 

It was:

1) Stick with Rocket until they escaped the Kyln;  
2) Convince Rocket not to hand him over to Yondu -- offer of continued sexual favors?? A cut of the profits from the orb?? Buy him a really big gun?? Begging??  
3) Begin epic bromance with Rocket that included kinky and possibly-illegal-in-half-the-galaxy sex;  
4) Continue being awesome. 

" _Fuck,_ " Peter muttered. 

"Yeah, we're gonna do that, too, don't worry. But me and Groot wanna play with ya a little first." Rocket told Peter. To Groot he commanded, "Turn him around."


	3. Synergy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So ya see, I pretty much have to hurt ya. It's like, whaddya call it, synergy." Rocket slapped him across one cheek, hard enough to hurt, to make the starbursts in Peter's vision flare like fireflies, to make his cock drip pre-cum onto the concrete floor. Rocket pulled his face back around and then slapped him again, putting the enhanced strength of his cybernetic arm and shoulder into it this time.

Groot grabbed Peter's shoulder and turned him so that his back was pressed against Groot's chest plates, and then released Peter to bring both of his hands around in front of Peter's belly. Rocket waited until Groot had laced his sapling-fingers together, then stood on the cradle Groot provided, still at Peter's eye level. "Now, I promised ya that me n' Groot wouldn't hurt ya," he said, looking down at his sharp little claws while Groot slowly milked Peter's cock with just enough pressure to keep him achingly hard, but not enough to get off.

"I wasn't lyin' when I said it, but thing is, I can tell ya like it when I do shit like this," Rocket said, and flicked Peter's nipple with his nail hard enough that Peter was fairly sure he'd broken the skin. Before he could even cry out, Rocket's head darted down to his chest and he bit, hard enough to let Peter feel how fragile his human skin was between Rocket's teeth, and then shook his head, and Peter moaned shamelessly at the feel of a hot, wet tongue licking across the peak of his nipple as Rocket withdrew. "Then again, we got an audience ta think of, too. They gotta see us hurt ya and make ya our bitch." Rocket grinned, tongue flicking out to run over his teeth, and Peter saw a scarlet drop of his own blood on the tip of Rocket's tongue. He moaned and leaned back against Groot, who was breathing in heavily once every thirty seconds or so, sucking in the pheromones pouring off of Peter's skin in deep, hungry gulps through a wide, flat, dopey grin.

"So even if I didn't want ta hurt ya -- and I do, now that I see how pretty you look all sweaty like this -- I'd have to, anyway. Don't want those guys tryin' to take my toy away." Now Rocket was leaning in, speaking low and confident into Peter's ear, and it made him shiver. The juxtaposition of Rocket's growling, rough voice and his almost comical physical appearance should have seemed incongruous, ridiculous -- but Peter _didn't care_. His only thoughts were a conflicting, chaotic mix of hoping that this went on forever, and that Rocket would stop immediately and let Peter come. 

"N' then we come back to the fact that ya really, really like this, doncha?" Rocket trailed a claw-tip like a scalpel down the curve of Peter's pectoral muscle, etching a raised red welt that immediately beaded up with dots of blood down his chest and belly. "Makes ya happy, don't it?" Rocket coaxed, dropping his hand to Peter's straining cock and dabbing at the pearls of pre-cum at the tip, then resting one nail firmly against the skin of the head, indenting but not cutting it, and pressing down until Peter let out a wail with the word "yes" somewhere inside it.

"Plus, making ya happy makes Groot happy. Right, Groot?" Rocket prompted, and Groot crooned out an 'I am Groot' in reply, squeezing Peter's dick at the root until Peter saw starbursts of color behind his eyes. "So ya see, I pretty much have to hurt ya. It's like, whaddya call it, synergy." Rocket slapped him across one cheek, hard enough to hurt, to make the starbursts in Peter's vision flare like fireflies, to make his cock drip pre-cum onto the concrete floor. Rocket pulled his face back around and then slapped him again, putting the enhanced strength of his cybernetic arm and shoulder into it this time.

Rocket used his grip on Peter's chin to force him to make eye contact. "Ya good, Quill?" 

Peter could barely focus on him, but he saw the question clearly enough in Rocket's eyes to gasp out, "Yeah, yeah. Hell, yeah."

"Good," Rocket replied. "'Cause now I'm really gonna go to work on ya."


	4. Improvisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jeez, bossy bitch, ain'tcha?" Rocket wrapped his hands around Peter's cock again, and his grin slanted into the filthiest smile Peter had ever seen. "We got no lube, so we're gonna improvise."

Rocket wrapped both hands around the shaft of Peter's cock and began stroking him, while Groot's vine stayed cinched around the base like a cock ring. Peter was ready to start sobbing -- Rocket's little clever hands were wringing sensations out of him that _sizzled_ up and down his spinal column, and if it wasn't for Groot's vine holding him so tightly, he would be coming in moments. It seemed to go on for a timeless age, Rocket still talking incessantly to him, but he was too pleasure-scrambled to make sense of it.

When he was lowered onto the floor on his back, he was just catching up to realizing the change in position when he felt Groot scrunching a sheet up under his head and shoulders, pulled from a looming shape to his left that proved to be a large wheeled laundry bin. The angle pushed his shoulders up enough that he could look down the length of his body to Rocket standing between Peter's raised knees. Groot's vine was still wrapped around him, his swollen cock dark with trapped blood. Groot himself was sitting to the side of them with his great tree-trunk legs crossed, leaning over Peter and Rocket to draw in as much of the delicious scents rising off of them as possible. 

The room smelled strongly of flowers now, and Peter faintly remembered that Rocket had said Groot's people communicated through scent. He wondered what Groot was trying to say to them right now, with the scent of ripe blossoms rolling over Peter's senses. Another of the components of the scent that had woken him up was stronger now, too, the sweetly acrid smell of musk. Down between Peter's knees, Rocket was lowering the pants of his prison scrubs to mid-thigh, revealing a human-sized and more-or-less human-shaped cock, with a heavy foreskin and tan flesh that lightened to rosy brown at the head -- the shaft was probably the color of most of Rocket's skin under his fur, Peter thought. Rocket left the rest of his clothing on, and Peter remembered the painful-looking augment scars and sockets on his back before he could ask why Rocket was still dressed when Peter was naked.

Rocket saw him looking and smirked bitterly. "The fuckers that made me gave me a humie cock and a humie sex drive. Thought it'd be funny, I guess. Just another way to make me a freak." For the first time since he'd met him, Rocket looked a little bit lost. He was looking at Peter as if he thought Peter might suddenly, at this of all moments, decide that Rocket was a freak, some of the crazy, outsized confidence he carried like a shield slipping, and Peter wanted to say a lot of things. 

He wanted to say that if he ever found the people that had hurt Rocket, he would kill them with his bare hands.

He wanted to say that it was okay that Rocket didn't seem to want to undress more than absolutely necessary.

He wanted to say that Rocket wasn't funny, wasn't a freak, that he was just Rocket.

He didn't say any of those things, because he might not have known Rocket long, but he already knew that although Rocket might hear them, he wouldn't listen.

He didn't understand why he was suddenly so concerned for the guy who had tried to abduct him, fried him with enough juice to make Peter's hair stand on end for an hour afterward, planned to turn him over to the Ravagers, and had pretty much frog-marched him down here to the laundry room so he could fuck Peter "for Peter's own good." None of this should add up to "concern for your de facto prison rapist's feelings and/or tragic life" or the intent to fucking _woo_ Rocket with begging and gifts and lots of awesome sex if that's what it took to get him to not turn him in and to join Peter on board the Milano for a life of criminality (and awesome sex). Peter recognized all the signs of an ill-advised crush coming on, as so many of his crushes were, and as with so many things in his life, chose to dive in with a sketchy plan and a "fuck it, why not?" attitude.

It almost never worked out, but it was usually fun while it lasted.

What he did say was, "Looks pretty good to me. So are you gonna fuck me now, or what?"

Rocket grinned, and the humor was back in it now, the shield of confidence was back up, and Peter was relieved to let it be so. "Jeez, bossy bitch, ain'tcha?" He wrapped his hands around Peter's cock again, and the grin slanted into the filthiest smile Peter had ever seen. "We got no lube, so we're gonna improvise." He started stroking Peter's cock in earnest, working both his hands up and down Peter's shaft mercilessly. The vine around the base withdrew suddenly, and with no warning except the return of the flaring starbursts in his vision, Peter was coming hard enough to leave him winded. The blooms of electric color behind his eyes intensified into galaxies of wheeling, rioting sparks, with black ribbons of velvet dark creeping in at the edges. He was sitting in the cockpit of the Milano watching stars and nebula crash against the viewscreen, flying recklessly forward, forward, straining, reaching. Rocket was telling him to come, asking if it was good, if he liked it, Peter thought, but by the time he could actually answer, Rocket was smearing the handful of Peter's cum that he'd gathered into his cupped palms onto his own cock.

"Turn over," Rocket instructed, and Peter struggled to make his uncooperative body flop over gracelessly, bunching the wadded sheet up under his belly to lift his hips up off the floor slightly. He felt languid and boneless, like a vast gas planet revolving in space, a loose collection of molecules held together only by gravity. Rocket's hands were on his hips now, and he could feel the head of his cock pressing up against him.

"How long's it been for ya, Quill?" Rocket asked, his voice remarkably steady.

"A while," Peter managed, turning his head to the side so that his hot, sweaty cheek was against the blessedly cool floor.

"Sorry," Rocket said, and there was the tremble in his voice Peter's been listening for, as Rocket started to push forward. "We ain't got time ta wait for ya to get relaxed and all, that door's gonna open soon. Ready?"

"Yeah," Peter said, and Rocket pushed into him, falling silent for the first time as he worked for his own orgasm, and Peter was content to let him, making quiet noises of encouragement to fill the sudden absence of Rocket's fantastically filthy mouth. Peter's massive, brain-melting orgasm had loosened and relaxed all his muscles, and Rocket seemed to be trying to be as careful as he could, which Peter had frankly not expected. He was in no pain, just feeling the warm stretching sensation of being penetrated. He wondered, as he was rocked back and forth by Rocket's thrusts, why he was so quiet now. If it was shame, shame for the way he looked, the way he'd been made. Peter decided that along with convincing Rocket not to give him up to Yondu, he was also going to convince him that he wasn't a monster.

If Rocket wasn't going to talk, Peter would, so he let himself babble about all the things he'd liked, how he'd loved the biting and scratching, all of it, he'd loved all of it and didn't Rocket know how hot it was when he said all that filthy shit to him, _jesus christ_ , was he trying to _kill_ him, fucking talking to him like that? _Fuck._

Rocket was still silent, right up until he hissed out a long breath when he came. He did look at Peter when Peter turned over again, though, looked him in the eye with very little hesitation. Peter sat up and offered him a corner of the sheet he'd been lying on to clean up with, and Rocket smiled the least cynical smile Peter had seen on him since they met. "You okay?" Rocket asked.

"Yeah, man. 'Course I am. You?"

Rocket nodded, glancing toward the door behind Peter. "Show's over, so most a' the peanut gallery is headin' back ta bed. Prob'ly decided they ain't in the mood to fight us for ya. The doors'll open in a little bit."

"I am Groot," Groot interjected, and Peter jumped a little, having forgotten he was still next to them. Groot was still sitting cross-legged, dopey grin stretched across his broad, flat face. He looked as post-coital as Peter felt, and given that the room now reeked of flowers, sweat, and both Peter's and Rocket's semen, Peter figured that Groot had probably enjoyed himself just as much as they had. Rocket was on the stool by the door again, re-connecting the wires he'd cut and spliced, undoing his earlier mischeif. He hummed under his breath again as he worked.

Peter glanced up at the window beside Rocket just in time to catch a flash of brilliant green moving away. Gamora. Peter immediately began calculating how much it might impact his plans, now that she'd seen him with Rocket. He still needed her to help him get rid of the orb -- much as he liked to think of himself as an infamous pirate and master thief, he knew that he was completely out of his depth when it came to finding a fence that would deal with him for the orb. He was willing to offer Rocket a cut of the orb in return for not handing him over for the bounty, but if splitting the pot any further could be avoided, well, more money for Peter. First and foremost, however, was getting off this shitpile prison station.

Peter stood up and began putting his clothing back on. "Yo, Rocket, you got a plan for getting us out of here, or was that just bullshit?"

Rocket jumped down from the stool and stalked over to Peter, jabbing him irritably in the leg with one extended claw. "Of course I fuckin' have a plan, nimrod. They ain't built a joint yet that could hold me," he boasted, pointing cockily at his chest with the claw he'd stabbed Peter with. "Don't worry about it, Quill. I got this."

"Would you care to share your plan with the rest of the class?" Peter said.

"Not especially. Care to share a cut of whatever that orb thingie you got is worth?"

"Maybe. We gotta get out of here first. Of course, I can't really share a cut with you if you hand me over to Yondu. Give me your word you won't turn me in, and I'll give you a cut of what I get for it."

"Fifty-fifty," Rocket chimed in immediately. 

"What? No way! I almost died getting that thing!"

"Yeah, and you'll probably die screamin' if I hand ya over to Yondu. Either a square fifty-fifty cut, or you better sweeten up the deal somethin' fierce if you expect me to pass up forty thou."

"Okay," Peter said. "How about being partners?"

"Already got a partner. Don't need another one."

"A partner with an equal share in my ship. We could go after your bounties and my heists, back each other up in fights...get drunk and fuck between jobs." Peter grinned his most winning, charming, 'of course you can trust me' smile.

Rocket was eyeing him suspiciously, eyes slitted to almost nothing. "And why would I trust you to not fuck me over as soon as ya get outta here with the orb in yer hot little hands?"

Peter's grin widened. "Because we're gonna fuck Gamora over after she leads us to the buyer she lined up."

"Oh, that makes perfect sense! Of course, why didn't I think a' that? Not only fuck over the green chick who could kill ya with her little toe, but really aim high and fuck over Ronan, the fucking genocidal maniac! No way, Quill. I'm gettin' us outta here, and then I'm dumpin' yer ass with Yondu, collectin' my payday, and fuckin' right off."

"I don't even know how much the thing is worth," Peter said, desperately. "Look, let me work my charm on Gamora, find out how much her deal with the buyer was for -- it could be worth a thousand times what you'd get for me."

"That's the truth," Rocket sniffed. "Okay, so, say this orb is worth more, via fifty-fifty cut, than you are as a bounty. On the off chance that's true, I could be convinced to keep ya around and work with ya. But ONLY if that orb is worth more than yer pretty little ass."

"I did offer my pretty little ass as part of the 'partners' deal, you know."

"Money's money, Quill. Besides, I ain't into charity fucks."

"Is that what you think it'd be? Hell no, man, I don't know about you, but I had a pretty good time. Come on, at least, like, provisional partners, just until we get out of here and find out what the orb is worth."

Rocket stared at him for a while, considering. Above them, the dim, murky lights flickered again, and the doors thumped as the locks inside returned to open status.

"I am Groot," Groot said, and Rocket glanced over at him, his mouth twisted into a sour frown. 

"So you're takin' his side now?" Rocket huffed, and Groot shook his leaves emphatically and repeated the only three words Peter had yet heard him say.

"Fine, whatever, but I'm gonna remind ya what a fuckin' terrible judge a' character ya are after this all goes south," Rocket grumped as he climbed up Groot's side to perch on the bough of his shoulder. "All right, Quill, we gotta deal. If the orb is worth more than you are to me, you can hang around. God knows a fuckin' idiot Terran hangin' offa me is the last thing I need."

Peter swaggered over and threw a friendly arm around Groot's waist, looking up at his brand-new partner in crime. "Rocket, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading the first fanfiction I've written in about 15 years! Guardians of the Galaxy, and Rocket in particular, have taken over my brain. This is the first story in a series, so please keep an eye out for the next story!


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